


Metamorphosis

by vulcanplomeeksoup



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal (TV) Radiance Anthology, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 12:38:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17325143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanplomeeksoup/pseuds/vulcanplomeeksoup
Summary: Two fireflies, lost in the sea of darkness. Will they still find their way to each other?-- If you look closely enough, you can see the blinking of fireflies. They glow in the dark, each with a specific flashing pattern unique to their own kind, signalling their locations...My Post-Fall fic for Radiance Anthology.





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> I just realise I've never posted this fic in my own AO3 :D This is my Post-Fall Hannigram fic written for Radiance Anthology :) It was published under my ~~silly~~ old user name 'pancakeispeople' XD

Title: Metamorphosis  
By pancakeispeople  
For Radiance Anthology

 

 ** _“You must understand that blood and breath are only elements undergoing change to fuel your radiance. Just as the source of light is burning.”_**

Most vivid amongst Will’s memories of what happened is not the falling, nor drowning, nor pain, but the sensation of Hannibal holding onto him as they sink together into the darkness of the roaring Atlantic. 

Cold water surrounding them is dyed a deep shade of red as warm blood leaves their bodies together with the bubbles of their last breaths. 

Hannibal’s hands holding onto him are firm, stubborn, intimate, his touch screaming aloud - _Sink to the bottom of the sea if you must; just don't go without me_. 

As if they are not already conjoined, inseparable. Will lets out a sigh in his mind; his arms around the man tighten in a wordless response. 

It explains Will’s confusion when his consciousness resurfaces on an unmarked stretch of beach at dawn. 

Red blood seeps out from his wounds, fusing with the water, turning into a diluted pink, washed away by the waves. Shallow water splashes up as Will’s hands frantically reach out for the missing heat of Hannibal’s body. 

But he isn’t there. 

Hannibal isn’t there. 

Will is alone. 

Hannibal was lost to the sea.

“What have I done?” 

Will squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the spin in his head to pass, praying for this reality to go away.

A fit of violent coughs hits. He takes an involuntary deep breath of cold air, and the burn in his lungs feels not unlike a rebirth.  
It’s a rebirth. His rebirth. 

His becoming. No fear, no guilt. No more hiding.

_“See. This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.”  
“It's beautiful.”_

When Will reopens his eyes, they feel different, hollow. He can feel himself changed, his skin no longer pale but dark; a set of antlers - antlers as majestic, as glorious as the ones on the Wendigo that was Hannibal - protruding from the top of his head, reaching out towards the sky. 

FWUM. FWUM. 

FWUM. FWUM. 

His heart thuds in his ears, his circulatory system racing. A thumping inside his chest. He looks down; there is a glow that flashes in sync with the beating of his heart, bright and steady like a silent spark of a lost firefly in the dark.

The Dragon gave him his power. He has been reborn, reborn from blood and breath that was the Dragon’s, and Hannibal’s, emerging as a Beast of his own making.

The Beast from the Sea.

 _And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea._

Will raises his blood-stained face towards the rising sun, and lets out a soul-wrenching scream. A single tear cuts through the blood.

—

**_“I don't know if I can save myself. And maybe that's just fine.”_ **

Next time when Will wakes, he is lying in an unknown bed, in an unknown room, in an unknown house, in an unknown city. 

The clothes on his body are no longer saturated with blood and seawater, but dry, warm, comforting. His wounds, although still hot and swollen, have been cleaned and stitched up. There is a hazy cloud in his head that won’t go away. It gives him an illusion of peaceful calm. 

Strange, feeling safe again. 

Though under sedation, he can hear soft footsteps nearby, he even detects the hint of an enticing aroma in the air. 

Hannibal? 

Hopeful, Will turns his head as much as he can towards the approaching sound and smell. Instead, he finds Chiyoh’s stoic dark eyes staring steadily into his. 

Without a word, Chiyoh helps Will sit up, and lowers a small bowl of warm, rich broth into his hands. Placing a straw in it, she holds the cup steady for him to drink. 

Taste is not only biochemical, it's psychological. The taste of the chicken soup reminds Will instantly of Hannibal. It tastes exactly the same as the one that Hannibal used to make in the past.

“Hannibal…Where is Hannibal?” It feels strange for Will to hear his own voice again; it sounds coarse, weak, and foreign.

Chiyoh bows her head, takes a breath. “I don’t know where Hannibal is.”

Will’s cheek is hurting. He winces in pain as he licks his lips.

“Don’t lie…don’t lie to me.” He whispers. “This soup…Hannibal used to make it.” 

_Hannibal used to make it for me._

Chiyoh freezes, then answers simply. “I taught Hannibal how to make the soup a long time ago. Finish it.”

Will doesn’t have an appetite, but he forces himself to take small sips until there is none.

“Why did you save me?”

Chiyoh looks down into the empty bowl. 

“Hannibal - He would have wanted you to live.”

—

_**”This is your best possible world, Will. You're not getting a better one.”** _

Then one day, when Will wakes up, Hannibal is standing there, silently watching him by his bedside. 

“Hannibal?”

“I'll confess it is pleasant to look at you asleep. You're quite beautiful.” 

**_We construct fairy tales and we accept them. Our minds concoct all sorts of fantasies when we don't want to believe something._ **

A creation of his fevered mind, no doubt. His Hannibal is wearing the dark, red-checked three-piece suit, meticulously replicated from his memory. 

Will takes a nostalgic look at the red and white paisley tie. He hasn’t seen Hannibal dressed like this for years. A subtle, content smile slowly presents itself between the man's chapped lips.

He misses Hannibal.

Maybe it’s grief, or stress, maybe it’s not. Why it happens, how it happens, is unimportant. What’s important is, Hannibal is here with him again. 

_“You’ve done what you’re supposed to do. Everything that can happen happens. Has to end well, and it has to end badly. Has to end every way it can. This is the way it ended for us.”_

He seems to hear Hannibal’s voice speaking in his head. He can never get Hannibal out of his head, and he wouldn’t want to even if he could.

_“If everything that can happen, happens, then you can never really do the wrong thing. You're just doing what you're supposed to.”  
_

That's the way things happen sometimes.

Maybe that's the way it should happen.

Maybe it’s not.

Such is life, such is death.

—

_**"If you don't kill him, you are worried you are going to become him."** _

After nursing Will back to acceptable health, Chiyoh tells Will that she has to leave. She has to leave Will to live his new life on his own. 

She hands him everything that he’d possibly need: new identifications, a gun, a case stuffed full with cash, and a thick pile of legal documents. 

Will frowns. 

“Hannibal- He has investments, arts and properties all over the world.” Chiyoh responds to his unasked question. “He decided, years ago, that he wanted you to have them. All of them. After his death.”

 _After his death._ Will flinches. 

“I don’t want anything from him.”

Chiyoh shrugs, picking up her suitcase. “You can do whatever you want with them. You have resources now, Will Graham.”

“Are you going back there? Back to Lithuania?” 

Chiyoh blinks, then shakes her head. She offers Will a faint smile, a rare last gift. “I am going home, my real home, in Japan.”

Then she turns to leave. She doesn’t look back.

The gravity of loneliness hits Will once the door is closed. An aching sorrow and anger in his soul bring him grief, and tears. 

Tears of complex, mixed emotions that he himself cannot understand.

 _“I forgive you, Will. Will you forgive me?”_

Will listens to his Hannibal’s voice in his head, a phantom warmth on his cheek as a large calloused palm comes up to caresses his face, fingers tracing the shell of his ear. He closes his eyes, eagerly waiting for the familiar pain, the pain from Hannibal’s linoleum knife slashing across his torso, opening him up, again. 

He is disheartened when the pain never comes.

—

_**“Sometimes at night, I leave the lights on in my little house, and walk across the flat fields. When I look back from a distance, the house is like a boat on the sea. It’s really the only time I feel safe.”** _

Will is numb except for dreading the loss of numbness.

Lying atop the deck of a slowly rocking boat, Will looks up at the night sky, half a bottle of whisky emptied by his side. His vision is blurred nicely around the edges, but he can still recognise the stars in the clear, dark sky. 

Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. 

Perhaps it’s the alcohol in his blood; some of the stars are glowing, blinking, like silent sparks of fireflies in the fields near the stream where he used to fish at during summer nights back in Wolftrap. Like the swarm of fireflies that danced and coalesced around him back in Hannibal’s cochlear garden in Lithuania. 

Glowing fireflies, beautiful as a dream in fairy tales, clawing free from the decaying shells of long devoured snails.

“What are you thinking, Will?” Will’s Hannibal asks.

“I’m wondering if you could see it, too. If-“ Will swallows. “If you’re out there. I wonder if our stars are the same.”

A part of Will is still denying that Hannibal Lecter is gone.

A part of Will still believes Hannibal is out there, somewhere in the world.

He is still out there. Hurt, and alone. 

There is no way for Will to know if he is still alive. 

There is no way for Hannibal to know that Will is still alive. 

Then it hits him. There is no way for them to find each other, unless he finds a way. 

They are like two lone fireflies, separated by a sea of darkness. 

Will closes his eyes.

_What would Hannibal Lecter do?_

At this point, there is absolutely nothing Will has to do. 

But Will knows what he wants to do. 

He wants to do it for Hannibal. 

He knows Hannibal would want him to. 

_Can't live with him. Can't live without him._

This is his becoming, preordained. 

A long time ago, Will chose to let his mind empathise with the Ripper; he chose to let Hannibal Lecter into his life, listen to his whisper through the chrysalis like a caterpillar. And now, he has fully become who he was destined to be. He has long passed the final stage of his own transformation. 

Will raises his hand towards the sky, reaching for the silent sparks of stars. It’s a moonless night. He can barely make out the shape of his hands; his fingers seem long, dark, identical to those of a Wendigo’s.

FWUM. FWUM. 

FWUM. FWUM. 

There is the same thumping in his chest, a glow flashing in sync with his heartbeats, the flashing of light not unlike a firefly signalling, reaching out for his mate in a sea of darkness. 

_“I want you to know exactly where I am. And where you can always find me.”_

Will can't give up on the man that easy, not yet. He owes Hannibal that much. 

“Hannibal. Where are you now?”

—

**_”An imago is an image of a loved one buried in the unconscious, carried with us all our lives. The concept of an ideal always searching for an objective reality to match.”_ ** ____

__Objective reality is about the world that's really there, unfiltered, outside the mind. Beliefs do not change the world, except to the extent that they lead to actions that alter reality._ _

__There's a ‘real’ world out there, outside Will’s brain; and then there's the ‘virtual’ world that has been built inside his brain. The real and the virtual world never match up completely, but they can correspond to a greater or lesser degree._ _

__A drip of splattered blood slides down Will’s cheek like a tear when his imagination finally matches his reality._ _

__Will stands looking at his work, revelling in the quiet sense of power that washes over him. The feeling that Hannibal wanted him to relish in. The fine line between letting go control and gaining absolute control._ _

___Doing bad things to bad people makes us feel good._ _ _

__The man’s pathetic begging eventually ceases when his eyes go lifelessly still, his freshly harvested lungs discarded on the ground with a dull thump, a shapeless blood-soaked mess of body tissues._ _

__His body has been mounted like a tabletop on antler table legs belonging to the severed head of a trophy stag._ _

__An exact clone of Cassie Boyle’s dead body._ _

__Displayed in the exact location where Cassie Boyle’s body was found._ _

__Will stands next to the slaughtered man, a knife still clutched tight in his fist. His face is dark, stoic, merciless as he stares at the artful display of the man’s corpse, his creation. The corpse of his first victim after the slaying of the Dragon - No. He doesn’t consider this filthy animal abuser his victim._ _

__The man is fuel, fuel for a signal fire, a beacon signal to guide Hannibal back to him._ _

__It’s a design that combines the best of Hannibal’s and his own. His creation is without question no match with Hannibal’s; Lacking the clean, precise surgical skills, Will’s design is a little messy, but still as poetic._ _

___Damage the organs, you ruin the meat_. _ _

__It doesn’t matter though because he is not going to eat him. The man doesn’t deserve the intimacy. Will closes his eyes and retreats to his own mind, immersing himself in his own empathy. He can hear his blood like a hollow drumming of wings._ _

__FWUM. FWUM._ _

__The light pendulum swings, once, twice. Swings in the darkness of Will's mind, keeping rhythm with his heartbeat._ _

__FWUM. FWUM._ _

__Will retraces the footsteps of his own making, reaching backward and forward in time, plotting his next moves._ _

__He stands in the breathing silence of the clearing in the woods, his own crime scene, the very spaces he has moved through. They speak to him. They speak to him with noise and clarity._ _

__The man’s body has to be found the way he wants him to be found, and happen at the time he intends it to happen. Just enough evidence to give the media - specifically Freddie Lounds - a taste._ _

__Will opens his eyes; he can feel his imaginary Hannibal standing by him, smiling at him. He appears very pleased, proud, even. His Hannibal tells him,_ _

___”You should be quite pleased. I am.”_ _ _

__“Of course you are.”_ _

__Will gives him a half smile. Together, they whisper,  
“This- This is **our** design.”_ _

__With a final proud look up at their creation, he strides out into the night._ _

__—_ _

__**_”Everyone decides their own versions of the truth.”_ ** _ _

__A serial killer is on the loose._ _

__There is haunting silence in the cabin when Freddie Lounds steps into the crime scene under yet another false pretense._ _

__The very air has screams smeared on it. She flinches from the noise in the silent room. This is the third body discovered, the first Freddie has the pleasure to witness in person. True to his, or her, established pattern, the killer has remained consistently theatrical. The murder is positively, promisingly gruesome._ _

__Posts about serial killers on the loose always yield the highest click rates on Tattle-Crime.com. The journalist is euphoric when she sees the body. She circles it, taking pictures of it together with the surroundings, the crime scene where such horror happened. In her mind, the title of her next article on the blog is slowly gathering itself, letters forming into words._ _

__Her eyes pause and narrow as they take in the artful display of the corpse. It is a very specific brand of brutality. There is an eerie elegance and grace in the mutilations. It feels…familiar now that she is standing face to face with the display._ _

__A sudden shudder runs down Freddie’s spine._ _

___Something_ is not right. _ _

__She can feel eyes on her; a prey’s instinct tells her to leave, now. She swallows hard, an uneasiness swelling in her chest that stems from her fear. A genuine fear for her own safety._ _

__She slips away from the cabin swiftly, quietly, as if she was never there. She is a woman who trusts her instinct, and her instinct has kept her alive this far._ _

__And now, her instinct is telling her that this case is huge. This case is going to be huge because HE is back._ _

__No, not HE._ _

__THEY are back._ _

__—_ _

___**Every time the Chesapeake Ripper kills, it's theatre.**_ _ _

__Word is, the Chesapeake Ripper is back._ _

__Hannibal Lecter is back._ _

__Three murders in nine days. _Sounders of three._ _ _

__The killing pattern, the display of bodies. They are frightfully similar to Lecter’s doing. However, there are small differences in the details of all murders. Details vague enough to confuse even the experienced forensics professionals, easily overlooked or misunderstood in the general public’s eyes._ _

__Nobody can tell if they were put there by accident, or on purpose, or bear other meanings._ _

__The one who put the bodies out there intended the murders to be seen this way._ _

__Is Hannibal Lecter planning his dinner party somewhere out there under a new identity?_ _

__Or is it a copycat?_ _

__Or is it a new killer on the rise?_ _

__Vagueries._ _

__Smoke._ _

___He's the Devil. He's smoke._ _ _

__They will never catch him. They will never catch them._ _

__The media has happily gone rogue. Thanks to Freddie Lounds and her articles, the case has practically escalated into a nationwide panic._ _

__The situation is a nightmare for Jack Crawford, and his team._ _

__Evidence does not lie, just like what was collected at the cliff house where Dolarhyde’s body was found. God forsake, Jack retraced the bloody paths himself. When he peeked out from the edge of the cliff to the roaring Atlantic underneath, he had said his goodbyes._ _

__To Will Graham._ _

__To the Devil._ _

___To the Devil his due._ _ _

__Doubt._ _

__Doubt is a funny thing. Sometimes it just won’t go away._ _

__Jack lets doubts in, once again._ _

__Jack trusts his team wholeheartedly; he really does. He has no intention of harbouring doubts against their judgement, but then -_ _

__There is still that tiny flame of doubt flickering in the back of Jack’s mind, not unlike a primal fear, that the two men have somehow survived the Great Red Dragon._ _

___What if…_ _ _

__What if they are still alive._ _

__What if they are still out there._ _

___”We will have a stampede when people think Lecter is out.”_ _ _

___“Let them stampede. Authenticity. And let them think I helped Hannibal escape.”_ _ _

__Jack recalls his last conversation with Will. He strokes his palm down his face, apprehensive._ _

__He needs a confirmation to clear that doubt in this head._ _

__He knows who he has to see._ _

__—_ _

___**I wasn't spared. He was just saving me for last.** _ _ _

__Students start to close notebooks, gather materials as the class nears its end._ _

__“- Now think about killing Mrs. Marlow. Why did she deserve this? Tell me your design. Tell me who you are.”_ _

__The last of the trainees exits, then Miriam Lass notices she is not alone._ _

__Jack Crawford waits until all students are gone. Only then, he comes up to the front of the lecture hall to his skilled profiler._ _

__An eerie familiarity sends a wave of emotions through Jack._ _

__If he thinks back about it, many parallels can be drawn between Will Graham and Miriam Lass, except he has already lost Will; he has lost Will to the Devil._ _

__Miriam turns to Jack immediately. She looks at him. He is still that same weathered, austere man he once was. _The Guru_ , with his peculiar cleverness. At the same time he is different, he has changed. Tired._ _

__“Agent Crawford.”_ _

__There will always be respect, and a sense of gratefulness in Miriam’s voice when she addresses Jack Crawford. She still believes the lie that Jack has never given up on her after she was missing. A misguided belief that Jack can’t bring himself to clarify._ _

__Jack nods at her, courteous. “We need your help, Miriam.”_ _

__Miriam know why Jack is here; the fact is, she’s been expecting him._ _

__She follows Jack to his office. Her eyes hold Jack’s gaze as a folder is offered to her. She licks her lips, fighting down the restlessness and fear growing inside her._ _

__Letting herself in the could-be-Ripper’s head is unsettling, but she knows she has to overcome that fear. So she takes the folder from Jack, with both her natural and her synthetic hand._ _

__The Ripper - Hannibal Lecter - took her arm, but there is no pain; there has been no pain. She knows it’s Hannibal’s crooked way of displaying kindness and affection. Her missing arm is a daily reminder that one day the Ripper is going to come for her. He has saved her among the lasts, if not for the last._ _

__She has put up a brave mask, but the truth is, she was relieved when Jack told her Lecter was dead. She had a panic attack when she read the Tattle-Crime.com article announcing Lecter’s return._ _

__Miriam’s fingers stroke the smooth surface of the folder, deciding, preparing herself for it._ _

__It’s not a particularly thick file, but it feels tremendously heavy as Jack lets go of it and passes it on, as if it’s a burden, a responsibility._ _

__The room is silent except for the sounds of random chattering and footsteps outside the door of Jack’s office._ _

__Jack thinks he is good at reading people; it’s an involuntary habit of his when he has nothing better to do but to wait. His concerned gaze observes Miriam closely. He doesn’t miss the way her entire frame trembles when she opens the file; he doesn’t miss the flash of fear, confusion and surprise in her eyes when she closes it._ _

__Desperate for the truth, Jack asks bluntly, “Is it him? Is it Hannibal Lecter?”_ _

__Miriam raises her watery eyes, then slowly shakes her head in silence._ _

__Jack nods and exhales, momentarily relaxed. “It’s a copycat, then?”_ _

__Just when he feels that small cloud of doubt leaving his head, clearing his mind, just when his brain tells himself to let go of the worry lurking at the back of his head, Miriam finds her voice again._ _

__She swallows hard, and tells Jack the truth with a soft, shakily exhale of breath, confirming his fear._ _

__“It’s not HIM. It’s THEM.”_ _

__—_ _

__**_All of our endings can be found in our beginnings. History repeats itself and we can't escape it._ ** _ _

__The room is bright yet gloomy. Heavy curtains are drawn against the fading sunlight outside. Slivers of red glow from around the edge are just enough to illuminate Bedelia Du Maurier’s brushed back light blonde hair, turning it to burnished gold as she walks towards the decanters against the window._ _

__Having politely refused her offer, Agent Jack Crawford watches Dr. Du Maurier brings the glass to her own lips instead, draining the scotch in a single mouthful. He remains silent while she pours herself a second glass._ _

__Bedelia Du Maurier is a smart woman. She is also a professional liar. The woman's expression rarely changed. Jack observes her cold, stoic face, unblinking, hoping to catch a glimpse of what’s going on in her mind. A display of emotions, or a shift in her expressions, perhaps. Anything really. What Jack really needs is something useful to do while his team searches the doctor’s house._ _

__A long silence, then Bedelia begins absently, her gaze intently fixed on the woods surrounding her garden._ _

__“If you look closely enough, you can see the blinking of fireflies.”_ _

__“Lightning bugs?”_ _

__“What do you know about fireflies, Agent Crawford? Ever wonder why fireflies glow?”_ _

__“No.” Jack shrugs, indicating his indifference towards the insect. “To be honest, I've never really thought about it myself.”_ _

__“Fireflies, They - When they hatch, they use glows as warning displays to communicate their distastefulness.” Bedelia tells Jack with a small grin; her voice is slow, even, calm as ever, a hint of mocking with her specific brand of cleverness. “Once they grow up, some move on to cannibalism and eat other fireflies.”_ _

__Confused, Jack blinks, then shakes his head. He is positive that the psychiatrist is on _some kind of medication_ , again._ _

__“They glow in the dark, each with a specific flashing pattern unique to their own kind, signalling their locations - “_ _

__“Very well. Fascinating.” Enough chattering. “Um. Dr. Du Maurier, I don't want to sound rude, but why are you here?”_ _

__Bedelia stares at Jack. Her face looks harder than usual, her eyes emotionless._ _

__She points out. “This is my house.”_ _

__Jack studies her for a moment, then says, “Let me rephrase. Why are you _still_ here?” _ _

__“You’re surprised that I haven’t packed my bags and fled.”_ _

__“Given your history with Hannibal Lecter, yes. You don't strike me as particularly traumatised by the rumour that Hannibal Lecter is still alive.”_ _

__“Hannibal Lecter, _and Will Graham_ .” Bedelia corrects him._ _

__The corners of Jack’s eyes unconsciously twitch when Will’s name is mentioned._ _

__He licks his lips. “You think Will is out there murdering all those people? With Hannibal?”_ _

__Bedelia glares at Jack, her left eye twitches like a wink. She can see the man is still blinded by his faith in the twitchy man. He must have constructed in his mind a thousand theories and scenarios, excusing the man’s behaviour from the crimes he is obviously guilty of. His trust in Will Graham’s innocence is apparent. It’s astonishingly foolish._ _

__There is a disquieting, amused glint in Bedelia’s eyes as she chides,_ _

__“You have no idea what Will Graham is capable of, do you?”_ _

__—_ _

__**_We're conjoined. Curious if either of us can survive separation._ ** _ _

__The sun is setting, casting curious shadows on everything, including the skull graven in the floor of the beautiful Norman Chapel of Palermo._ _

__Sitting at the foyer of their shared memory palace, Will closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the gentle light shining on his skin._ _

__“Hope is such a strange concept.” Will says without opening his eyes._ _

__He knows his Hannibal is there with him in the chapel. He is always there, his elegant legs crossed, sitting beside him like a mirrored image._ _

__“How so?” His Hannibal tilts his head._ _

__“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness. Sometimes, it’s a fabrication of the human mind as a survival instinct.”_ _

__“You are hopeful that I’m still alive.”_ _

__Will nods. “With that hope, I found myself looking at the world through your eyes. Imagining what you’d do, what you’d say.”_ _

__His Hannibal grins. “You have become me.“_ _

__“I’ve become what you wanted me to be. I’ve become what I truly am. The monster's running wild inside of me.”_ _

__Hannibal smiles. Will can feel Hannibal’s tender, piercing gaze on him. Hannibal always looks at him that way._ _

__“My beautiful Will. A radiant glow in the dark.”_ _

__A blink._ _

__And Will’s mind resurfaces. It returns him to reality, the reality with him lying in a cold motel bed, alone. He looks up at the mouldy ceiling. There is a burn behind his eyes._ _

__No longer bothering to pour it out, Will takes a direct swig from the bottle of whisky on the night stand._ _

__Such bad manners. Hannibal would no doubt shake his head if he were here._ _

__“I miss you, Hannibal. Where are you now?”_ _

__—_ _

__**_“We don't have an ending. He didn't give us one yet.”_ ** _ _

__Do we talk about teacups and time and the rules of disorder?_ _

__Or perhaps fate and circumstances?_ _

__Aren't you curious?_ _

__Don't you want to know how it ends?_ _

__Let it be a fairy tale, then._ _

__Once upon a time…_ _

__Once upon a time -_ _

__Will Graham stands underneath the sky, considering the stars._ _

__An eerie moment of silence, then a subtle crunching of grass indicates Will is not alone. He glances over to see a raven-feathered stag. It walks quietly through the meadow towards Will, who holds his breath, taking in the surreal vision of this beast._ _

__The Ravenstag stops and watches Will._ _

__The eyes of the beast are soulful, dark, unblinking. They are dark until a single flicker of light appears out of thin air, lightening them up with its reflection._ _

__A firefly, emerging from the emptied shell of a devoured snail._ _

__Even in the sea of light, the lost fireflies can see each other, find each other in the dark. Will holds the firefly in his palm dearly, watching its glow flashing in sync with the beating of his heart -_ _

__FWUM. FWUM._ _

__FWUM. FWUM._ _

__KNOCK-KNOCK._ _

__Then a sudden knocking startles the stag and it bolts._ _

__KNOCK-KNOCK._ _

__Startled awake, Will sits up in a foreign bed. He is flushed, soaked in sweat, the sheets sticking to him in a clammy film. It’s uncomfortable, but he makes himself focus. His hand naturally reaches for the gun he has hidden, tucking it under the robe he is wrapping around himself. He shuffles to the door, wiping the fresh sleep out of his eyes._ _

__KNOCK-KNOCK._ _

__Will opens the door._ _

__And there he is._ _

__Hannibal Lecter._ _

__Hannibal Lecter is standing outside his door holding two cups of takeaway coffee, and a small food storage bag._ _

__An odd and rare moment when the present feels like the past.  
Freezing on the spot, Will stares at him. _ _

__His eyes go very still. This Hannibal Lecter is very different from the one he’s been hallucinating._ _

__He is not wearing the meticulous three-piece suit, but leather jacket and dark jeans. His face is thinner, a little rougher, his cheekbones even more prominent than they were before, but the deep set eyes are unmistakably Hannibal’s._ _

__His hair is looser, longer, dyed a shade darker, slightly unkempt but still neat. Much like Will himself, the beard on his face has been carefully, cleverly groomed to conceal any scars that may attract attention. There is an unhealthy paleness on his skin. The injuries from their last kill must have taken a toll on his body._ _

___”Strange seeing you here in front of me.”_ _ _

__“Good morning, Will. May I come in?” Hannibal says, wearing a tired grin._ _

__Without waiting for an answer, Hannibal crosses the threshold. Closing the door gently behind him, he carefully places the coffee and food on the table, aligning it with the edge of the table, then walks up to Will where he stands still in shock._ _

__Maroon eyes study his expression, warm, glistering, but remain cautious._ _

__When Will comes out of his trance and blinks, his brows furrow in a frown and confusion swirls the stormy blue iris of his eyes._ _

__“You’re alive.”_ _

__“So it seems.”_ _

__“How did you find me?”_ _

__Hannibal smirks. “You left me a note for rendezvous, I believe. _That crime scene was practically gift-wrapped._ ” _ _

__Dead body in a field mounted on the antlers of a stag. Hannibal’s first gift for his dear Will._ _

__The message was clear, Will wanted to meet him at this very same motel room that they first met after Cassie Boyle’s murder. He would be waiting. He would be waiting if Hannibal is out there._ _

__Will remains thoughtful a moment. It’s fascinating, how intimately Hannibal understands Will, and Will understands Hannibal’s thinking. Their mutual understanding is beautiful._ _

__Back in the quiet motel room, there is an awkward silence in the air between the two men. Both a little unsure, they are staring at each other longingly, but keeping a courteous distance. They are keeping a courteous distance because Hannibal is waiting. He needs Will to decide, to make the first move._ _

__Hannibal lowers his gaze. It no longer matters to him if Will is going to kill him here and now. He thinks of his earliest memory and projects forward to what he imagines will be his death. He remembers the first time he laid eyes on Will. He’d never imagine the man would be the death of him, literally._ _

__Such a pleasant, unpredictable surprise._ _

__The fact is, Will’s behaviour never ceases to surprise Hannibal._ _

__Like right now._ _

__Stepping forward, Will’s arms come up to wrap loosely around the taller man’s waist, unsure if his wounded torso would still hurt. He hears a soft, relieved sigh escapes Hannibal’s lips as he pulls him into an anxious embrace._ _

__Hannibal practically leans into the touch. He closes his eyes; his bearded jawline nuzzles subtly against Will’s hair like a lion cub, his palm cupping the back of Will’s head with a gentle, comforting pressure._ _

__Hannibal’s voice carries a rare, raw emotion. He whispers, “You risked getting caught just to find me.”_ _

__“I thought you were -“ Will frowns, and licks his lips. “Dead. I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. I wondered if our stars were the same.”_ _

__A glint of light caught and reflected in Hannibal’s reddened eyes._ _

__“I believe some of our stars will always be the same.” Hannibal replies, his voice a soft, husky whisper._ _

__“I wondered if you were out there. I wanted you to know exactly where I am. And where you can always find me.”_ _

__Hannibal tilts his head, a knowing grin on his lips. “You haven’t given up on me.”_ _

__They exchange a smile._ _

__Will leans forward, and kisses Hannibal once on the lips._ _

__Both of them are happy to let it linger._ _

__“I saw your work, our work. I admired it enormously. I must say your becoming is far more radiant than I imagined, my dear Will.”_ _

__Hannibal looks ridiculously proud; it’s almost comical._ _

__Will lets out an audible sigh._ _

__“I suppose you've brought breakfast?”_ _

__Hannibal hisses a soft laugh, and reaches for the bag on the table._ _

__“Indeed. _A little protein scramble to start the day. Some eggs, some sausage._ ”_ _

__In the tupperware container lies a beautifully presented breakfast for two._ _

__Will sits opposite Hannibal, just as before._ _

__Hannibal holds his gaze._ _

__A hint of a smile appears on both of their faces as they raise a forkful of the meat and eat it._ _

__

__-THE END-_ _

**Author's Note:**

> SPECIAL THANKS TO MY LOVELY BETA @Llewcie !


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